


The Passion Play

by secace



Category: Arthurian Literature - Fandom, Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms
Genre: Catholicism, Gen, M/M, a historical au of a modern au of a modern au of a pseudo history, as rey said, but basically theyre putting on a mystery play, so this is.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23743786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secace/pseuds/secace
Summary: The residents of Camelot put on a mystery play, and it goes perfectly well with no issues of significant diversions from scripture. Just kidding.
Relationships: Gawain/Lancelot du Lac (Arthurian)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	The Passion Play

**Author's Note:**

> so as part of coffeeshop rey (gawain-in-green) wrote a fantastic one shot of the gang doing spamalot and I said that a mystery play would be the medieval version of that and now, well. this is anachronistic in so many ways but I don't even care.
> 
> oh also warning for like. i mean its a passion play so mentions of violence and various deaths in the bible including suicide, but nothing beyond a mention

“If it’s Christmas we  _ have _ to have a mystery play,” Galahad repeated insistently.

“No, we don’t. They’re boring and don’t make sense,” Mordred countered, looking up from where he was seated on the floor, playing with the dogs. 

They were all gathered resentfully in the hall, the storm raging outside. It was the twenty-third. It was also the middle of the worst storm that any of them had seen, except for Owain, who kept loudly announcing the magical storms of the fountain were much worse, until Gawain innocently suggested they should go for a ride together then, if it was so mild, an offer his cousin quickly declined.

“It is of spiritual importance and they would make sense if you actually read the scripture,” Galahad said. There was a room wide apathetic shrug, and, somewhat huffy but mostly embarrassed, he left at the well-timed ringing of the Vesper bells.

“You know…” Gawain began slowly, sitting up straight in his chair with a cat-like stretch, “we could just put it on ourselves if he thinks it’s so important.”

“You want to put on a play?” Bors questioned hesitantly. He was slightly afraid of Gawain, which was probably the smart thing to be.

Gawain shrugged, as if to say he couldn’t be expected to be held accountable for the things he said. 

But elsewhere the idea was picking up traction, most notably with Priamus, who had an unhealthy look of enthusiasm about him, generally reserved for murder and watching Gawain do murder. 

“We could put on a play. I’ll put it on, I lived in Athens for five years and I was somewhat of an actor, Euripedes, Sophocles-” he trailed off wistfully. 

“Huh,” Gawain said, which seemed to be the general consensus and likely would have been the end of things, were it not for Guinevere. 

The Queen rose from her seat at the high table, and clapped a few times, “That is an excellent idea, Sir Gawain. And Sir Priamus, we bow to your expertise. I will be the Angel.”

Now that parts were free game, the hall erupted into shouting, most directed at Priamus, some, confused, at Gawain. He reacted quite reasonably by drawing his sword and banging it on the stone wall several times, sending unpleasant metallic reverberations throughout the hall, which quickly grew silent. Galatine was sheathed, and Gawain stepped up onto the table.

“We are going to do this in an orderly fashion. Agravaine, write the parts down as Priamus gives the okay,” Gawain began pacing back and forth atop the table, gracefully avoiding knocking over various plates and drinks, not looking to see if his brother was acceding to his wishes. Discussion, under Gawains supervision, went on in a slightly more orderly fashion.

Agravaine, who, with a sigh, found a scrap of parchment, ink and pen, faithfully recorded the results. Guinevere was the Angel, the Orkneys minus Gawain, plus Percival and Owain, were various apostles. Agravaine, due to Priamus’ confusion on the intricacies of the Christian faith, was both Simons. Isolde was the Virgin Mary, because she enjoyed the irony. Bors was Joseph of Arimethea, and Gawain, after successfully arguing that a lack of Christianity was nothing against a natural talent for being mostly naked and tied up, was Jesus of Nazareth.

Inspired by this casting choice, and the only scene from the passions that he ever paid attention to, Lancelot volunteered himself as Judas. Tristan, who had been mostly asleep but was now remembering a very different but to him equally impactful scene, offered to be Mary Magdelene.

Gawain grimaced. “No, absolutely not.”

“But I have red hair,” Tristan wheedled.

“They need you for music,” Dinadan said, sparing them, “I’ll help with it too. This is going to be a disaster and I want to be involved in it.”

“I have red hair,” Ragnelle said quickly, and was cast. 

The two thieves became Lyonesse and Lynette, Tor and Aglovale priests, and Sangremore Barabbas.

“Okay,” Said Priamus, clapping his hands once, “great. Galahad can be Pilate, since, he’s not here, so the only one left to cast is Saint Sebastian.”

The more religious members of the gathered body looked at him quizzically. Finally, Bors raised a hand.

“Uh, Saint Sebastian wasn’t there. He hadn’t been born yet.”

Priamus blinked. He was only familiar with the events of the bible through last years passion play that he hadn’t paid attention to, and Galahad’s various… writings which he had, because he was polite, paid attention to. But Priamus had understood little of them except to surmise that the core tenants of the Christian faith were bleeding from various places and homoerotic undertones, and that Saint Sebastian was the main character.

“He can just sort of hang about on the sidelines, I suppose,” said Bors after a long silence. It would make Galahad happy, and it wasn’t as if this was going to be anything but heretical anyway.

“So, any volunteers?”

Another long silence. Finally, Mordred raised his hand.

“You’re already an apostle, you can’t have two,” protested Gaheris, who did not know double-casting existed, and everyone else had universally agreed not to tell him. He kept asking to be “the guy who gets to kill Mary” who they kept tellin him was not a real character, and he had only been quieted by the fact he was already an apostle and could not have a second role.

“Apostles are dumb. Besides, no one needs two James’s. One is enough. I want to get shot with arrows.”

Finding himself unable to argue with that logic, Priamus allowed this. It was then that Galahad reentered, and was instantly bombarded with ten people all shouting over each other to explain that they were putting on a mystery play, and he was in it. He froze in the doorway into the left of the hall, overwhelmed by the cacophony of people all saying different things to him. 

Gawain began to draw his sword and silence instantly fell. He turned to Galahad.

“Hey, kid. We’re doing your mystery play after all. Do you want to be in it? We saved you a role.”

“Yes! Really?” he asked, trying not to get his hopes up.

“It’s a good one, pivotal to the central scene,” Gawain explained, not noticing how this could be misinterpreted.

“I’ll do it! I’ll do it!”

“Excellent. Priamus, we have our Pontius Pilate,” Gawain said, taking two steps back and dropping purposefully back into his seat in an almost practised motion.

Galahad didn’t say anything for a moment, and Mordred laughed at his expression.

“What?!”

Mordred only laughed harder, and the rest were already moving on.

* * *

Rehearsal began immediately, stymied only by the minor issue of them having no script or even, in some actors and the director, an understanding of the plot. Gawain, who was not Christian but was in some confusing way that none of them even pretended to understand, The Pope, was attempting to give Priamus the rundown which the rest of the cast and stage crew, which was made up solely by Lamorak, turned the front of the hall into a workable stage.

“So you’ve read the Bacchae? It’s like Pilate is Pentheus and Jesus is Bacchus, but instead of hedonism, they crucify Bachus, who comes back to life later. Semele is The Virgin mary but she’s alive, and she has a friend also called Mary who is a prostitute. Judas is like… Brutus.”

“I see,” said Priamus, who didn’t really see at all. 

“Alright, so Jesus and all his friends have a party, and he says some cryptic shit. Then he gets arrested, then a bunch of Romans get together to make fun of him and beat him up, then they crucify him, Judas hangs himself, everyone is sad and then Jesus comes back and kills all the Romans,” Gawain explained confidently.

Priamus nodded, “Yeah. alright. Wait- Judas…”

“Oh,” Gawain said. He frowned. “We can change that, maybe just have him go offstage and not come back.”

Priamus was thoughtful, “I think he should do some thinking, some soul searching. I think he should have a redemption arc.”

“Don’t see any reason why not,” Gawain agreed, relieved. The object of the difficulty was approaching, and the conversation halted. 

“Everyone was wondering if we were going to have costumes,” Lancelot said, having apparently been elected the delegate. 

“I'm planning to,” Gawain answered, then grinned, “ more like lack of a costume, but still.”

“Ah!” Lancelot said, and was silent for several seconds, face taking on a carmine tint. 

“Yes, we are going to have costumes. This is very official,” Priamus told him when it was clear Lancelot had nothing else to say.

“Right,” Lancelot said finally, and made a sharp about-face, hurrying off.

“He is a very odd man,” Priamus noted, not unkindly.

“He grows on you.”

They rejoined the group, which had with only two injuries (a loose nail split open Lionel’s arm, and a beam had been dropped on Aglovale) assembled a stage at the head of the hall. 

“Alright, we have two days, so we have to get to it,” Priamus announced, in his element in a way they’d never seen him before. And so it was that they began rehearsals before they even knew what scenes they were doing. 

Priamus, who was beginning to fancy himself a visionary, was taking a very experimental track to the art of pulling on a play. They began with the last supper, Priamus hoping that those involved in the scene knew more about what went on on it than he did, which, for the most part, they did. The work went on.

* * *

It was Christmas, and for the first time in many years, Gawain was neither wasted nor dramatically reenacting the Green Knight incident, though he would by the end of the evening be mostly naked.

The audience was made up of King Arthur, the knights and ladies who weren’t participating in the play, and any other resident of the castle that wasn’t busy, who were sitting at the round table and ranged from excited to already drunk. Arthur, who was both of these, signalled to start. The play opened, accompanied by deceptively good musical background courtest of Tristan and Dinadan, on the Last Supper already in progress.

There were only six apostles, but they had twelve wine glasses, to help the suspension of disbelief. Gawain had already drained two of them. 

Gawain, sitting at the head of the little table they had dragged onstage, took a knife from his belt and tapped it against his glass, which was actually Agravaine’s glass he had taken.

“Attention apostles. I would like to make an announcement. One of you,”

Gawain paused for dramatic effect, looking each of his six apostles in the face one by one. Agravaine, Gaheris, Gareth, Owain, Percival and Lancelot waited in silence. 

“One of you is going to betray me.”

“Oh fuck,” Palamedes whispered from the audience. He didn’t know which apostle it was yet, and was getting invested in the story. Dinadan didn’t tell him.

“I bet its Lancelot,” Gaheris said with a glare.

“You mean Judas?”

He waved his hand, “whatever.”

Gawain hummed, “I don’t think its Judas, he wouldn’t do that. Would you, Judas?”

Lancelot, getting perhaps too in character, was looking horribly guilty. He said nothing.

Palamedes, who currently had his money on Gareth’s Peter being the saboteur, scanned the faces of the apostles intently. 

Gawain went on to explain the Eucharist in a way which somehow made it seem sexual, and the scene ended, sticking, so far, shockingly close to the original. Galahad, in the makeshift wings, breathed a sigh of relief as the curtains, which clung to their hastily made support system for dear life, dropped inelegantly.

They watched Lamorak move the table out and drag the reasonable wood and yarn tree facsimile onstage, no one offering to help. The apostles reassembled and the reluctant Pilate waited just offstage with his various assistants and cronies. After a slight slip up, the curtains were hastily drawn back up. Most of the actors were looking like they wished they had partaken of more of the blood of the Christ in the previous scene. 

Gawain’s admittedly still in character attempts to chat up Lancelot- or Judas, it was hard to tell at this point- where interrupted quickly by Galahads entrance to the scene which they pretended not to notice. The events at this juncture had been confused somewhat and melded together in a way that sort of made sense and kind of followed the bible.

Pilate-Galahad made a vague gesture to Judas-Lancelot intended to convey, “Which one is he?” and looking more like a shadow puppet of a dog. Lancelot, overjoyed to have reached the only scene he remembered or cared about, abruptly gave the signal which, as in accordance with The Bible, consisted of kissing Gawain. After a time enough to give the signal at least four times over involving way more tongue than was in the New Testament, they broke away. 

Pilate, who was covering his face, had to be gently returned to the scene by a helpful tap on the shoulder from Tor The Priest. He peeked between his fingers, confirmed that kissing was over, and straightened, trying to look official.

“Right, you’re under arrest,” he announced, pointing at Jesus.

“For what?”

“Public Indecency.”

“Oh,” Gawain granted, “that’s a fair cop. Lock me up, then.”

“I can’t believe it was Judas,” Palomedes said to Bedivere next to him, who merely nodded politely.

“You can’t do that,” Peter-Gareth argued, in what was nominally a beat from the story, “you don’t have a warrant.”

“Huh,” said Galahad, who had decided that if he had to be a villain he was going to be the best one they’d ever seen, “that’s funny, I really think I do.” He turned slightly and indicated to his five assistants, “There’s W, A, R,” he pointed at one for each letter,” A, N,” he pointed to himself, “and T.”

“There are two Rs in ’warrant’,” Gareth pointed out.

“My mistake,” Galahad said. Now before continuing it is worth a word of explanation for what is about to occur. Galahad had never gotten to be mean before, and now he was given explicit permission, as part of a religious practice no less, to let loose.

“Here’s the second R,” he finished, and without warning punched Gareth in the face. A short and unplanned scuffle broke out between the Romans and Apostles, only stopped when Gawain, evidently growing bored of the fight, effected a physical separation of the combatants, primarily by picking them up, like kittens, by the backs of their most Christian looking tunics and placing them at opposite ends of the stage.

“Now,” he said, “Someone arrest me, I don’t care who.”

The Romans, gathering their wits about them, arrested him, and he was dragged offstage by the soldiers, Judas, as scripted, slipping off the other end of the stage.

“Wow, you should not have done that,” Saint Sebastian said from across the boards. No one had noticed him enter. He was holding an arrow, twirling it lazily between two fingers, but otherwise looked remarkably like Mordred in normal clothes.

“Shut up, Saint Sebastian.”

Pontus Pilate walked offstage resentfully.

“Interesting…” Palamedes said, trying to figure out how this new character fit into the story, “what is he doing here I wonder?”

“I actually don’t know,” Bedivere admitted.

Another scene change under Priamus’ attentive watch, and the soldiers made themselves busy inflicting lacklustre torture and mockery on a Jesus who seemed only to enjoy the attention.

“Uh, sir,” said Elyan the Roman Soldier to Tor, “he’s laughing at us. We tried hitting him with things and calling him names and he just thinks its funny. He made Longinus cry.”

Longinus, who was actually Lionel, was in fact looking sort of morose, mainly due to the fact he was covered in purple bruises from the incident with the stage. 

“Huh,” the priest said, “well I guess we have to make a crown of thorns?” He looked into the wings and Priamus nodded encouragingly. A crown of thorns, which was just a wreath, was tossed on and caught by Elyan, who put it on Gawain. 

“Thank you,” said Gawain, “I think it suits me.”

“See!” Elyan said, pointing.

Galahad reentered, his sudden authority over five whole underlings giving me heretofore unfelt and growing confidence.

“What seems to be the trouble?”

“He isn’t being tortured right.”

Galahad narrowed his eyes and walked over to Gawain, who was sitting on the floor cross-legged, hands tied behind his back. To indicate that he was now a prisoner, he was in just his trousers and, now, a wreath.

“Now look,” Galahad frowned down, “we can’t be having with this. You’re being very rude.”

“My apologies, I thought this arrest was going remarkably well. This is some great torture.”

Pontus Pilate stopped, looking pleased, “really?”

Gawain nodded. “Oh yes, I’ve been arrested before, I’ve been tortured before, and both together, but this is top-notch stuff. You run a solid operation here.”

“Oh, wow,” Galahad smiled. Abruptly his sudden good mood disintegrated with the arrival of Judas on the scene.

“You’re not supposed to be in this scene,” Galahad pointed out.

“Yes I know, but look, I feel awfully bad about this whole thing. I’ve done a lot of soul searching, uh, offstage, and I’ve decided to try and redeem myself,” Judas took a handful of coins from the purse at his belt. There wasn’t a prop for 20 silver, so this was presumably his own money.

“I knew Judas wasn’t a bad guy,” Palamedes said. Beidvere did not respond.

“I’d like a refund.”

“I can’t give you a refund!” Galahad sputtered. The captive looked back and forth from one to the other unaffectedly.

“Well I’d like to speak to whoever’s in charge then,” Lancelot insisted.

Galahad, gesturing for his cronies to drag Lancelot offstage which, because he was Lancelot, they didn’t, took a deep breathe, “I am the person in charge here and all sales are final. Good day, sir!”

“Its really alright Judas, I promise I'm not mad,” Jesus said encouragingly, and at that, his friend, turned traitor, turned attempted rescuer, left the stage with some reluctance.

“Alright, let’s just kill him already,” the Roman leader decided.

“Oh, shit,” Agravaine was busy being the only one to help Lamorak with the props, and had forgotten his role as both Simons. Dropping the cross, he darted onstage.

“I want to carry the cross!” He announced, “I'm Simon, Hi.”

“How do people keep getting in here, isn’t this a prison? Don’t we have guards?” Galahad questioned. His assistants shrugged, and they began the crucifixion, leading the two thieves on. They had only had time to get one giant cross- Gawain had pointed them in the direction of one just laying on the side of the road, and Ragnelle had called in a favour to get magical help fetching it. As a result, the two thieves were simply going to be stabbed. 

Mary Magdalene showed up to make a scene and left, as did the Virgin Mary. Saint Sebastian was watching the whole time looking sort of bored and occasionally criticising the shoddiness of the execution. Guinevere, who couldn’t remember when the Angel came on, wandered onstage to just sort of preside over the occasion and see it all went according to plan.

Jesus was chatting amiably with Longinus and the other soldier and watching Simon 2 do all the hard work, and unbeknownst to the rest of them, the apostles were hatching a plan backstage. The Marys had also, noticing this, slipped offstage and were fomenting rebellion in the ranks.

“Oh man, how is he going to get out of this?” Palamedes asked, looking worried. Bedivere didn’t have the heart to tell him.

Citing many notable works of art, Gawain had argued himself out of his pants for the crucifixion and was now wearing only braies and a green crown. The Roman soldiers had just finished tying Gawain to the cross, and were preparing to fake-stab the thieves, when there was a sudden cacophony just in the wings stage left, and the apostles, Marys and Judas burst onto the scene. 

Lancelot rushed to untie Gawain as the two soldiers and three priests faced off, once again, against the apostles, now with the addition of the two Marys. Even the heavenly messenger got in on the action, by freeing the thieves, who quickly joined the fight.

“I’ve had a change of heart and I'm here to rescue you. I'm really awfully sorry about all of the trouble.”

“No trouble,” Gawain said mildly as Lancelot cut his bonds, “I had faith in you.”

The soldiers were quickly overwhelmed and restrained, Pilate surrendering in face of superior numbers. The Christian resistance cheered and began dragging the Romans offstage, presumably to some grisly demise. Jesus-Gawain now free, exercised this freedom to thoroughly thank his rescuer, in what looked an awful lot like signalling for him to be arrested by the Romans had a few scenes earlier, but more lengthy and involved.

“Oh, Lord,” said Galahad, horrified.

“You can’t say that, you aren’t a Christian in this scene,” Saint Sebastian pointed out critically.

“I’ve converted. It’s a Christmas miracle.”

“It’s Easter.”

“I’ll stab you with your own arrow.”

And with that, the play ended, to confused clapping, which, as the makeshift stage collapsed, grew to raucous cheers. 

“I was worried there for a second, but I'm glad it all worked out alright for Jesus,” Palamedes said, clapping. 

“He certainly seems to be enjoying apotheosis,” Bedivere noted dryly.

So it was safe to say that Christmas in Camelot had gone as well as it ever possibly could.

**Author's Note:**

> catholicism...... sure exists huh


End file.
